Return to Me
by Rydia Highwind
Summary: A year post-game, Zack returns into Cloud's life. He wants things the way they were before, but Cloud isn't sure. And, just to mess things up, someone else wants revenge. Angst, yaoi, references to non-con. Rated uped for language in Ch. 3.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Rydia Highwind chichiri_is_hot@hotmail.com  
Title: Return to Me (working)  
Summary: A year post-game, Zack returns into Cloud's life. He wants things the way they were before, but Cloud isn't sure. And, just to mess things up, someone else wants revenge.  
Warnings: Angst, yaoi, references to non-con.  
Disclaimer: The FFVII characters and world and stuff all belongs to Square and yadda yadda yadda. My friend Sam made up the bad guy so worship him. The working title of this fic comes from a song called "Lullaby" by Assemblage 23.  
  
  
**Return to Me**  
_Chapter One_  
  
It wasn't really raining, because it never really rained in Kalm in January. It was more like hail or sleet, tiny pellets of snow pattering noisily against the window, and then dissolving into clear droplets of water before trickling down the glass window pane. Sometimes he would reach up and trace the erratic paths they left with his forefinger, imagining they spelled some elusive word or formed a just unseen picture.   
  
He did not like the rain. He did not like the way it felt if he were outside in it, or the way it tapped against the window. He did not like how it reminded him of tears he'd never shed, he'd refused to allow himself to shed. He did not like it, and he did not like this strange combination of snow and rain either. And yet he felt himself drawn to it, he had to watch it. So there he was at the window, his eyes following the beads of water slowly make their way down the glass.   
  
Rain brought back the memories of things he tried to forget, good things and bad things. Times when his hair would stick to his face and no matter how hard he tried to get it out of his eyes, it would continue to fall in his way. Times when he couldn't see ten feet in front of him, but that was okay because he knew what everything looked like anyway. Times when he carried something and he worried so much that it would be ruined by the wetness, even though no one really minded if it was. Times where the air was sharp with the scent of gunpowder and smoke and he wished it would rain more because the air was dirty with it and there was blood on his hands but he did not know why.   
  
Once he had gone to a place that he never remembered being in, yet he knew every step of the place. He felt twinges of emotions he didn't remember feeling and words that he didn't remember saying. Things he had said were voiced by someone else and he was simply remaining silent. Once he had gone there and once he had lost his breath as pieces of memories returned to him. He did not like the feeling and made the mistake of taking a cold shower at the Inn. The shower was like the rain, and there was a choked scream in his throat the same way there had been before.   
  
He had had nightmares since that day. Nightmares in which his hands were sticky and he didn't know why (but he did) and where there were crimson stains on the rocks and he didn't know from what (but he remembered) and where the sword felt heavy and unfamiliar in his grip and that didn't make any sense (but he knew) and where it hurt to breathe and he felt like he had lost something and he didn't know what (but he understood). It was that understanding that made it so unbearable.   
  
Shapes were milling about in the grayness out the window, and he wondered why anyone would ever go out in the rain or the snow or whatever it was. Few people entered the bar on a day like this and Tifa liked to grumble good-naturedly about it while trying to engage in conversation with him. He wasn't being very helpful, this he knew, and she had stopped trying to get him to clear dirty tables a few hours ago. Part of him felt badly, but when reflecting that there were never more than five separate customers inside at one time, he didn't feel so bad.   
  
Turning away from the window, it seemed that Tifa had sensed his darkening mood and was heading over to sit by him. He didn't really feel like talking, but then again, he never really did. She slowly approached him, smiling in a manner that clearly told him she intended to cheer him up, and sat in the chair across the table from him, leaning one arm on the hard wood in front of her. "You look sad," she said simply.   
  
"Nostalgic," he answered simply, and looked out at the almost-rain once more.   
  
"Really?" She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, settling her head at a slight, seemingly interested tilt. She was trying hard, too hard to talk to him, distract him. She was eternally trying to help him, he thought. And yet, nothing ever seemed to help. Sometimes her concern just made everything worse. "What about?" Her voice was laced with hopefulness.   
  
"The rain." He did not turn away from the window.   
  
She didn't reply, and from the corner of his eye he saw her bite her lip and look down at her hands nestled in her lap for a moment. Someone walked into the bar and he felt his eyes travel instinctively over to the door. A tall man, probably, but a dark, rain-soaked cloak prevented anything else to be gathered from his appearance.   
  
He turned back to Tifa and laid his hands on the table, feeling the cool wood pressed against his sword-calloused fingertips. "You have a customer," he said plainly, and nodded to the man.   
  
The man had seated himself at the bar, removing the hood of his cloak as he did so. A pile of hair was freed from the hood and cascaded down to his shoulder blades, black as the cloak itself. He leaned forward in a familiar position and looked around for the bartender, revealing a set of softly glowing blue eyes.   
  
A knot was growing in Cloud's stomach and he suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. Tifa had stood up, a frown etched on her countenance, as she brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from the table. He reached over and grabbed her hand, unsure if he was dreaming or simply imagining the figure he saw. "Tifa..." His voice was dry in his throat. "That's...."   
  
She turned her head to look at the mysterious man and from her lips came a startled gasp. Then, without a moment's hesitation she was looking back down at the table, where his hand was now trying to wriggle free of her grasp. The man was turning, looking confused at most, still unable to find the bartender, while everyone else had drinks.   
  
There was a moment of complete silence in the bar as their eyes met, and Cloud suddenly did not really believe he'd ever be able to move again.   
  
-------   
  
His hair had been longer in the dreams, all the way down so that covered up most of his behind when he was standing and he hadn't had it pulled back for a practice session or the like. His skin had been darker, bronze as a god, and tighter over his muscles that now seemed to have shrunk, though it might have been the lighting. Scars lined his skin where they had not before and eyes that once always smiled now spoke of too much pain to smile again.   
  
His voice was the same, though he was not saying the same things he had in the dreams. He was laughing as he had in the dreams. His gait was the same, his posture unchanged, though it seemed to carry more weight than it had in the memories.   
  
"Cloud...you okay, Cloud? Cloud...."   
  
No, he was not okay. He was dying inside, dying all over again. He wanted to scream it, to yell, to breathe, to.. something. Instead, he just remained perfectly still, eyes locked inside the other pair so very much like his own. "Fine." He wasn't talking. His lips were moving and his throat choking out his voice, but he wasn't telling it to do so.   
  
He let himself lean forward on the table, arms heavily setting on the hardwood. "You were dead," he said simply. "I saw you die. I.. _felt_ you die."   
  
He had. It was the reason he did not like the rain. The reason his hands were sticky and bloody. The reason he did not sleep on rainy nights, where the gently falling rain would keep him awake, swimming in memory. The reason the sword did not feel right between his palm and his fingers anymore, though it never truly had.   
  
Zack.   
  
-------   
  
"No, no, it's okay, kid." Zack was laughing, just a little, as he sat down across the table. His mouth was twisted into an impish half grin that he had always loved so long ago. A lifetime ago. How long...? Everything was jumbled inside his mind.   
  
"I...I thought..." His voice was unsteady.   
  
"Don't think." Zack was shaking his head, but he was still laughing. "I don't understand either... I thought you were dead too." He leaned back in his chair, slowly crossing his legs, as though the motion was uncomfortable. His eyes closed, then opened, slowly, deliberately, and his mouth remained pulled in the crooked grin. "Man.. it's good to see you, Cloud."   
  
Tifa had gone to the bar for something, it seemed, because she was no longer there. She was returning, though, a bottle and two glasses accompanying her. Once she reached them and they both had a drink poured, she looked at his face and clucked quietly under her breath. "You're sure you're all right, Cloud? You look like you're about to pass out."   
  
He managed a bit of a smile when he looked back up at her, picking up his glass and taking a small sip. "I'm fine, Tifa. Thanks."   
  
She made it quite obvious that she didn't believe him, but left the table to take care of other aspects of business. There were other customers and, as always, dishes to be done. He had watched her go over to the bar, her deep mahogany eyes darting back to him and his companion every so often. "She took care of me when I got to Midgar," he said quietly, turning his eyes back towards Zack. "Probably saved my life. Took me in and all."   
  
The taller man nodded, his blue eyes misting slightly in contemplation. "They didn't take you back? I figured they would have brought you back after.." He trailed off into silence and shrugged, taking a drink from his glass.   
  
"No. They just.. left me there for dead. I laid there for a while in the rain and there were screams and..." He stopped himself before he choked on his own voice. "Anyway, I was confused.. I found your sword and imagined I was you for a while." He found himself staring at his hands, lying palm down crossed over one another. "What.. what happened to you?"   
  
Zack sighed slightly, leaning forward and leaning on the table. "A guy living in the cliffs near where.. where it happened heard the gunfire. He ran out with a mastered restore materia and found me. Said I was as full of holes as a piece of swiss cheese when he found me." The black haired man paused for a long moment, eyes distant and looking out the same window Cloud had been earlier. "Good man.. but he wouldn't come here with me. Said he had some thinking to do yet."   
  
"You were alive...." Cloud suddenly felt as though someone had placed a boulder on his shoulders and back. "And I just.. walked away...."   
  
"Hey." The gleaming sapphires of Zack's eyes were quickly turned back to his companion. "That's not your fault. I saw what they did to you. I'm pretty amazed you could walk away on your own." The glass rose to his lips once more and he then let his glass clank as he landed it on the table. "Anyway.. it seems like I was pretty damn lucky to have made it until he found me. Said he didn't think the restore materia was even helping."   
  
Silence reigned for a long moment, and the smaller man took a sip of his drink. "Doesn't surprise me," he said softly, avoiding eye contact. He remembered the sound of gunfire, unending in the night. That had been the only sound in the silence of his screaming. "I still don't understand..."   
  
"Jenova." Zack's voice was flat. "That...I don't know what it was. But it kept me alive somehow."   
  
"Jenova," Cloud repeated, feeling a bitter taste in the back of his throat. It had never occurred to him that Zack was likely a more complete Sephiroth clone himself. Jenova was the one that had kept him alive. Jenova had kept the both of them alive. "She wanted you at the Reunion, but you weren't there...." He allowed his voice to trail off.   
  
The other man looked at him curiously. "It wasn't her talking.. it was Sephiroth." There was a long pause. "I couldn't move much when he was talking anyway.. had to be strapped down to the bed for however long. I guess I kept trying to get up. I...don't remember much. Just his voice, and a weird need to listen to what he was saying." He shook his head. "There are too many things I don't understand about this. But you heard him too.. didn't you."   
  
"Yeah." Cloud breathed out a small sigh. He had a lot of explaining to do.   
  
-------   
  
The night had long since fallen and the bar closed, so that they were the only ones there, save for Tifa, who would come to check on them every so often. He had finished his story soon after Tifa had murmured something about going to bed, and how there was a room open Zack could use if he wanted, the key of which was now turning over and over between the older man's fingers.   
  
"Man," Zack said quietly, countenance serious and his eyes staring straight into Cloud's through the dim light, "and I thought _I_ had gone through hell."   
  
The other man spun the empty cup in his hand, the droplets in the base trickling to the side and then back again. He said nothing, they had both gone through hell and he was in no position to judge just how much or severe that hell was. He was perfectly content maintaining the silence that grew between them now; he had been talking for so long, it seemed, talking about things he preferred never to think about again. Now, he welcomed that silence.   
  
Zack had watched him for a long moment before leaning forward and shoving his chair back, pushing himself up from the seat. "Time for bed, I guess," he said quietly, a hint of something else laced almost inconspicuously through his voice.   
  
After standing up and turning toward the doorway with an affirmative nod, it would have been more disconcerting if the arms hadn't encircled him from behind. He first allowed himself to melt into it, eyes falling halfway shut as the lips brushed the back of his neck. But something flashed in his mind then, a single white burst in the back of vision and he pulled away from the embrace, shame flooding his being. "Yeah," he said quietly, not turning around to face the other man. "For bed. Your room is that way." He allowed himself to point at a door leading to the inn section of the bar.   
  
There was a long pause between them in which neither of them moved. Finally, Zack broke the silence as a set of footsteps plodded towards the appointed door. "Good night, Cloud," he murmured before letting the door fall shut behind him.   
  
"...good night, Zack," he said to the empty room.   
  
-------  
  
_End of Chapter 1. Please review._


	2. Chapter 2

All the summary info and stuff can be found in the first chapter.   
  
**Return to Me**  
_Chapter Two_  
  
-------  
  
The sky always holds a certain scent to it when its planning on raining, something strikingly familiar and out of place, it seemed. Out of what he had come to understand was the ordinary. Someone had dragged him out here, and it was going to rain. He tried to say something, but he instead got a mouthful of something warm, damp, thick, reminding him somehow of shower water. Fabric, maybe? Someone's shirt?  
  
Why a shirt would be pressed up against his mouth was beyond him. His body didn't seem to be working correctly (oh, this is a dream, right?), moving when he did not tell it to and remaining still when he did. His senses were mingling together somehow, and voices became colors and colors became the scratchy feeling on his face. Nothing was working right, or maybe it was working too well and his mind wasn't working correctly.   
  
Something flashed, a loud color (_no, colors aren't loud.._) or a voice? A voice, a familiar voice. But the colors didn't seem to form words and the voice kept speaking louder and the colors responded in kind. This wasn't unfamiliar to him, it had happened before, but not here.. somewhere else, somewhere far away. He had to work through it, and things would find themselves out.   
  
"...and don't you worry about a thing, kid." (_That's Zack..._)   
  
And with a disconcerting snap and a twinge of anguish, the separate realities focused into one as he realized what was happening. He struggled to gain control of his drooping limbs, but, as it was in every nightmare, it was a worthless attempt. He was trapped inside his own mind with no way to tell Zack that he was in danger and no way to protect him from what would inevitably come. It wouldn't work, he knew in the back of his mind, it never worked. He had been inside this dream before, he had lived it far too many times, and it didn't matter what he did, it would not work.   
  
"See? We're almost to Midgar now. Wasn't so bad, was it."   
  
His eyes were finally taking in images the way they should, and he could make out the compact navy ridges of the shirt he was pressed against. His voice worked up in his throat, feeling raw and unformed, just out or reach in the far corners of his mouth. He attempted to harness it, to warn Zack of the impending danger, but opened his mouth only to receive another taste of fabric.   
  
"Zaaaaghh..."   
  
His face lifted, probably something to do with the warm touch on his chin, and the shoulder he had been resting against shifted as a pair of glowing silver orbs focused on him. Concern glinted there, discernable by the knitting of the ebony eyebrows and the creases in the tanned skin between them. Zack's face. Zack's eyes.   
  
"Shh, hang on, kiddo.. we're almost there."   
  
Zack's voice was quiet, calming, gentle, but underneath the surface, it was strained and tired, weary yet hopeful in the same tone. He could now feel the strong arm snaked around his waist, supporting him, and the drag of his strangely loose boots on the rocky ground. They had started moving again, though he didn't remember stopping.   
  
He began to panic. _Don't put me down... use me as a shield, Zack... don't let them take you away from me... again..._   
  
He could hear the heartbeat beneath the ridges in the shirt, thumping quickly, and warm breath moved through his hair. Gasping, he again tried to make some sort of noise or indication, some kind of distraction, anything, but he couldn't. He couldn't choke out a word of warning or move his fingers or.. anything. He was caught inside his own dream, his own memory, and he couldn't do anything about it.   
  
He could not even breathe.   
  
When they came, they were rhythmic taps, perfectly spaced from each other like the sound of rain pattering against a tin roof, only far too even. They were far away, across a reddish boulder and down part of a cliff. His boots had been scraping through the sparsely scattered grass and rocks, but now they were stopped. Zack was stopping. And from the shift in his shoulder, thusly noted by his half-conscious burden, it was easy to guess he was looking back.   
  
He was being laid on the ground in the shelter of a larger rock. Zack's voice purred in his ears and he tried to respond to the lips brushing gently across his cheek. The words seemed to flit about just out of reach and comprehension, something about coming back, and there was something that needed to take care of. Unable to warn him or react, he felt himself slump to the side, forcing one hand up in a useless gesture to stop the other, though heaven knew he'd tried.   
  
Zack took the hand in his own, and kissed the fingertips, as though this time, this time he wouldn't be left alone, that Zack wouldn't leave him again. But his hand was laid aside and instead Zack's fingers brushed his cheek and then were gone.   
  
Tears formed unshed in his half-closed eyes. _Don't go, Zack... they're going to kill you..._   
  
The sounds from beyond the rock where he lay were familiar to him, the sounds of the large buster sword slashing through the metal and the clanking of the severed machines as they tumbled to the ground. There were shouts, more slashes, then nothing. He felt the first drops of rain hit his face as he lay there, helpless even as Zack returned and knelt by him, the sword stained with deep crimson that dripped down off the silver steel.   
  
_There are more, more beyond the first ones! Run, run, run, leave me here, run run runrunrunrun... gods, Zack, please!_   
  
Zack did not hear his silent plea. He never did. Even as he opened his mouth to speak again, another set of gunfire rang through the night, and suddenly Zack was not there. Boots were running by, he thought they might step on him, but they did not, they just ran on, ignoring him. They were going toward the other body lying amidst the rocks.   
  
The gunfire was endless, and the rain started.   
  
-------  
  
He was sitting straight up in bed, staring breathlessly at his hands and mistaking the sweat on his brow for the rain, just like every time he awoke from this nightmare. He found himself blinking back tears that didn't seem to be there and swallowing against a raw throat. The seeming lack of air in his lungs was making him dizzy.   
  
"Cloud..! Oh, calm down." Tifa's was emanating from somewhere to his left and he turned his head as a pair of cool hands took his shoulders and gently pushed him back down on the bed. He complied, letting his shoulders press into the firm, yet soft mattress. His head was swimming and he felt warm. Tifa placed something cool against his forehead and sighed. "You finally woke up," she murmured, sounding relieved.   
  
He turned his head to look at her. "...was I talking in my sleep?" he asked quietly, and the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat easily told him the answer.   
  
"Yeah...it's all right. You've got a fever," she responded, and held up a glass for him. "Here--drink this. Cold water." She waited until he took the cup from her extended hand before continuing. "I thought you were delirious for a while, but it was Zack who found you. He heard you; his room is just down the hall."   
  
He coughed, momentarily forgetting that Zack had indeed returned the night before. Brushing away the concerned noise Tifa made in response, he took another sip of the water, then handing her the empty cup. "Where is Zack?" he asked softly, his throat feeling less like it was on fire, though he still didn't want to push it more than necessary.   
  
"I'm right here," came the all too familiar voice, coming from the doorway, and all eyes were turned to the speaker simultaneously. Zack was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded, but he looked up as he spoke. He then pushed away from the wall and approached the opposite of the bed as Tifa. His gait was rigid, as though trying to compensate for a limp that wasn't there or just wasn't noticeable. He grabbed a chair and sat in it backwards, his arms leaning against the back of the chair. He was frowning just a little, giving Cloud an odd look for a long moment before glancing up at the room's other occupant. "Tifa? Can we...have a moment?" he asked quietly.   
  
She blinked a moment in surprise, but nodded as she stood. "Sure thing," she murmured as she made her way towards the door. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs." She awaited Zack's nod and then shuffled from the room, closing the door behind her.   
  
Cloud sat up in bed, propping a pillow up behind his back. A wave of dizziness hit him, but he ignored it. Zack was looking at him, staring at him, seeming to take in all the details there. He realized he must be doing the same thing, noting how the silvery blue of Zack's eyes were just as bright as he had remembered them, how his cheekbones were slightly more pronounced than they were before, how he now bore a scar on his right temple--just a scratch, it seemed, noticeable only to one who was staring. Like he was.   
  
Zack spoke, then, shattering the silent barrier between them, asking what Cloud knew he would and did not want to answer. "You were dreaming about me? About...that night?" His voice was quieter than it had been, quiet to the point where Cloud might not have heard him had he not known the question before it was asked.   
  
His hands suddenly became the focus of his gaze, his fingers intertwining with one another, his palms damp and sliding back and forth in an unintentionally rhythmic pattern. "Yeah." His voice wasn't more than a whisper, but it was loud enough. "It's not the first time."   
  
Another hand reached across the blankets and came to rest atop his own. He studied the change intently, not wanting to look up at Zack. The hand was larger than his, though not by a whole lot, the palm calloused and worn. He recognized the line of hardened skin along Zack's palm not only from years ago when these hands had been so much of his life, but he recognized the touch from that of the calluses on his own palms. It was the mark of a swordsman, or maybe just someone tagging along who ended up using a sword that didn't belong to him.   
  
He remembered coming back from missions with AVALANCHE in which his palms were bloody and blistered and that didn't make any sense because he had been using a sword for seven years, hadn't he? Why would his skin rub raw? Tifa had seen them once after he had removed his gloves and had scolded him for fifteen minutes while wrapping them up. Now his hands were hardened to the grip of the overly heavy sword, welcoming the feeling of the wooden hilt that still felt just a little bit odd.   
  
"Cloud.. I'm sorry about what happened last night." Zack's voice was devoid of the mirth he remembered there almost always being in his undertones. "I guess I just assumed things were just like they were before. We...should probably talk about this, hmm?"   
  
There was nothing to talk about. Zack likely had his assumptions about why he had been rejected, and they were likely all wrong as well. He did not look up from his hands, his or Zack's, which remain atop. He did not want to talk about his reasons. He did not think he could. "I don't think there's anything to talk about, Zack," he heard himself quietly say.   
  
A pause. He did not look up from the pile of hands, even as Zack slowly, almost reluctantly removed his from the other two. "What's that supposed to mean?" His voice was low. Not angry, not accusing, but low, almost hurt. Sad.   
  
Cloud felt his heart freeze in his chest as this occurred to him. He couldn't remember ever making Zack sad before, not in anything he had done or said, not in any action. Circumstances had made Zack cringe, made him swear, sweat, whatever. But now...Cloud had said something, and Zack's reactions were completely his fault. He couldn't look up, he couldn't even speak his apology. The air was stagnant and hot in his lungs and he couldn't breathe it properly.   
  
Zack took his body language to mean a different sort of guilt. He felt Zack shift in his chair, heard the scrape of the chair legs against the hardwood floor. "Look...Cloud...." His voice was still low, laced with that melancholy Cloud had heard before, but it was apologetic at the same time. "Look. I can understand if there's someone else, I know you thought I--"   
  
"Zack." His voice was quiet, demure, but enough so that silenced the other man. "Zack, there is no one else, there never was. I just... I just can't right now, okay?" He found his eyes adverted again, his gaze pointed distractedly at the other side of the room. It felt odd to be upset around Zack and not let him comfort. It felt wrong not to cry when he needed to and Zack was there.   
  
But he wasn't the boy Zack had loved six years ago. He was someone else, now. A shadow, a puppet with no strings, left abandoned. He was nothing anymore, and Zack failed to see that. He never _had_ been worthy of the other man's attentions, but now, he was less than nothing. He couldn't shake the odd feelings he felt when he saw Zack walk, recognizing the gait in his own step. The way he talked, acted, fought, dressed--it was all Zack. It was all wrong, everything he was now had been stolen because Zack was everything he had wanted to be and so he had chosen to live in a Mako drenched dream as his idol and the man he loved.   
  
For a while, he had not hated himself. And now, that self-loathing was worse than before.   
  
"Okay...I understand," Zack was saying in a voice that clearly stated that he did not understand, but he'd accept this. Cloud sometimes thought Zack never really understood most things about him, but that didn't matter because Zack had always tried to understand and had always cared, regardless of whether or not he understood. "It's all right, Cloud.. just let me..."   
  
He allowed Zack's fingers to turn his chin towards the older man and he did not resist when tenderly pressed his lips against Cloud's. Zack kept the kiss brief, but let it lack none in fervor. After pulling away, Cloud was still breathless when the other man stood. Zack leaned down, a casual smirk making him look so much more handsome. He felt the fingers mess with his hair and heard Zack's voice. "Get some sleep and get better soon, kiddo. You know, if I get sick, it's your fault--"   
  
Cloud threw the pillow at him.   
  
-------   
  
_End of Chapter 2. I swear this will get a little more interesting next chapter. ~_~ Please review._


	3. Chapter 3

All the summary info and stuff can be found in the first chapter.   
  
**Return to Me**  
_Chapter Three_  
  
-------  
  
"Surely you don't need the offensive ones. I mean, I can understand having a restore or two around for good measure, but really, ma'am. There hasn't been a fiend attack in months. I'm sure you can bear to part with--"  
  
The voice was unfamiliar, but most of the voices in the bar were. The sky had rained itself out after the first night of such, and the bar was much more crowded that night than the last. Despite protests, Cloud was able to convince Tifa that he was feeling much better and wanted to help out. Things were much easier, as Zack was helping out as well, and he found himself with less to do than normal anyway. That was probably better, he reflected, absently pressing two fingers to his cheek--which was still a little warm.  
  
Tifa was at the counter, dealing with an unsatisfied customer. He knew very well that Tifa was more than capable of handling herself, but he always kept an eye on her in these situations. Drunk males and female bartenders did not always mix and he often felt a little overprotective of the brunette. But this particular customer didn't seem to be drunk and wasn't offering to take Tifa to bed or get her to share a drink with him either.  
  
"I said I wasn't interested, sir," she was saying frostily, even as Cloud approached to see what was going on. "If you're not interested in what we _do_ have, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."  
  
"Ma'am, I don't think you understand exactly what I'm offering you." The speaker was a wiry young man, a good half foot taller than Tifa, his long, auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail extending a little over halfway down his back. His smile was suggestive and his light blue eyes trained to the point where Tifa must have been feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.  
  
Cloud made his way over, behind the counter, his fist instinctively tightening around the concealed dagger he kept beneath his belt. It was a reflex more than anything, he had never actually had to use it inside the bar before. Still, this man wasn't exactly the normal lonely, half drunk idiots who typically bothered their server. He was perfectly sober and didn't seem to be asking for Tifa's companionship at the local inn.  
  
Cloud came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, glancing first at her and then at the man at the counter. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice slightly dangerous and low, but loud enough to be heard.  
  
The man's gaze flicked back and forth from Tifa to Cloud, the smile never leaving his lips. "No," he said, his voice obtaining a hint of something unrecognizable. "No problem at all. But I will be back." With that, he pushed away from the counter and slowly made his way toward the door, casting a glance or two over his shoulder on his way out, still flashing that cunning grin.  
  
"What did he want?" Cloud asked once he was gone, his hand sliding from her shoulder and back to his side. While Tifa knew that his gestures were meant only as friendly ones, it sometimes helped when the patrons believed otherwise.  
  
Her countenance turned toward him slowly, her wide reddish brown eyes blinking with a look of confusion in them. "It's kind of odd, really," she murmured, half under her breath. "He wanted to buy our materia. All of it. He didn't even care what kind...as long as it was working materia, he wanted to buy it off me. His prices were good...but he gave me the creeps, so I turned him down."  
  
Materia collectors weren't rare, but they weren't exactly plenteous. Especially around Kalm, where many of the impoverished Midgar survivors were taking refuge, the usually wealthy collectors were uncommon. Not many people had materia to sell, nor the money to buy it with. Materia collectors also generally only collected one type of materia and didn't want anything to do with other types. Support and Independent materia were the most widely collected types, as they were not only plentiful, but came in the appealing shades of violet and blue. Materia collectors generally used materia only as trophies, and many didn't even know what they did.  
  
"He seemed pretty sure he was getting what he came here for," Cloud said softly, leaning sideways on the counter, an unused coaster sliding between his fingers. "He'll probably come back tomorrow with piles of gil. I don't know, maybe we should give him a few. He might leave you alone then."  
  
She turned, taking an empty glass from the bar where someone had left it and leaned back against the counter, studying the dirty mug as she did so. "Yeah...I don't know, he just sort of gave me the willies, you know?" she was talking more to the object in her hands than him, it seemed like. "It's probably just my imagination. You think he'll leave us alone if we sell him some?"  
  
"It's worth a try." The coaster was made of some cork-like materia and left his fingertips tingling slightly each time he ran them over the surface. "We still have most of what we had...before, and we really don't need all of it. Just give him something underleveled and say that's all we have," he suggested.  
  
She nodded, just as someone across the room managed to spill his drink all over his table and over about half of the table next to him. The brunette bartender quickly excused herself and rushed over before a fight could break out.  
  
-------  
  
He was still mostly immersed in sleep when he first noticed something was wrong. A wrong feeling, in a way he couldn't quite figure out, maybe something to do with the tightness in his lungs and the film of bitterness lining his mouth and throat that, no matter how many times he swallowed, did not go away.  
  
Regardless of what it was, he was quickly knocked conscious by the fact that he was coughing rather violently.  
  
He sat up quickly upon this realization, perhaps a little too quickly, as he doubled over again with a coughing fit. But the cause of this was clear enough. Upon slight inspection of the dimmed, moonlit room, he could see that fine wisps of gray smoke were curling up through the cracks that separated the bedroom door from the wall and floor.  
  
There were voices from the hallway, shouting, and footsteps pounding past. He lost no time in getting out of bed and was at the door in no time, opening it quickly and immediately closing it most of the way again after being bombarded with a wave of smoke. He coughed again, pressing his arm against his nose and mouth to try and block the column of the acrid fumes. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the building was on fire and he, on the second floor, needed to get out of there. The window was too high up to safely jump from, he knew, though that was always a last resort.  
  
More yelling. He thought he heard his name. Bracing himself, his bare arm still protectively covering his face, he shoved the door open again and pushed his way out. The haze of smoke immediately took him down coughing again, this time accompanied by rapidly tearing eyes. Realizing he had no other option, he pushed out into the hallway--  
  
--and almost tripped over something on the floor. Thoughts rushed past the gathering mist in his mind--_oh god, it's a body...the inn was full...oh god_--and he found himself kneeling next to the fallen person. It was a girl, maybe a bit younger than him, her blond hair smudged with ash and her body limp from the strain of breathing the airless smoke. Not knowing if she was even still alive, he snaked an arm about her waist and pulled her up, dragging her along with him toward the stairs.  
  
The smoke was getting more dense as he went, and he fought to ignore the white spots dancing in front of his eyes. The girl was like a dead weight on his arm and he wondered if she was even still alive, if his effort was in vain. Where were the stairs? The hall had never been this long before. More than once, he stumbled to a halt against the wall, attempting unsuccessfully to find a clean breath.  
  
Finally, the spots dancing in front of him had grown to the point where it didn't seem to matter if his eyes were open or not and he really couldn't tell anyway. Still, he pressed forward, leaning heavily against the wall, still dragging the girl along with him. He had to get out of here, he had to get outside, he needed air, god, there was so much smoke....  
  
The next thing he remembered was a vague sensation of hands on his shoulder and back, and then a tugging on his pants. Someone was cursing...someone was...he recognized the voice, but couldn't place it in the impenetrable mist in his mind.  
  
"...you stupid....come on....oh, fuck, come on....get up...."  
  
There was something intensely foreign and surreal about the whole situation, but he felt himself settle into a strangely familiar pattern of trying to suck in air around the shooting ache in his chest and not being very productive in doing so. The hands were there again, pulling him up, he thought, but he couldn't see and he couldn't think and when he felt his head lean up against something solid, he allowed himself to slip into darkness.  
  
-------  
  
The inn had been quite full that night and Zack had offered to set up a cot in the bar itself to allow an extra person a room for the night. He had been the first to smell the acrid smoke billowing from the dish room and notice the angry orange flames leaping up from the doorway. He had been the one to dash up the stairs to sound the alarm, and the one to start trying to save anything of value he saw.  
  
He had been the one to notice that Cloud had not come out.  
  
There was a mob gathering outside the little building, people crying, wrapped in blankets, hugging children and looking on as the inn burned. The injured were hovered around with bandages and ointments, and soon the people stopped coming from the building. _No one else could have made it_, they murmured amongst themselves and others started wailing when a loved one wasn't found.  
  
He had just found Cloud back. He was not about to lose him again.  
  
The collar of his shirt made for an excellent filter against the smoke, but he still ducked under the fumes as much as he could. He literally slid up the stairs, grateful that they hadn't already been burned to cinders, and tried to ignore the heat from the flames that had already begun to sear the upper level. The second floor of the inn was simple enough. There were two rows of rooms separated down the center with a long hallway. Cloud stayed in the room second farthest away from the stairs, and probably one of the first on the upper floor to catch fire.  
  
Cloud wasn't in his room, though. It didn't take Zack long to find him, as he had made it about a meter from the stairs before collapsing, an ashen blonde girl a few feet behind him. _That idiot--trying to play hero again_, he thought, ignoring a coughing spasm as the smoke got through his shirt. The girl was probably dead, but his conscious wouldn't let him get away with that assumption. He quickly checked her pulse and found out, with a slight wince, his suspicions had been correct.  
  
Cloud wasn't moving either, but Zack could hear the hoarse gasps as his lungs tried to find a clean breath. The smoke was slowly asphyxiating him. Taking a quick breath, the first man pulled his shirt off completely, and pressed the sleeve across Cloud's nose and mouth, hoping to filter the air the same way he had on himself earlier. However, in response, the blond stopped breathing altogether.  
  
"Goddamn it," he murmured under his breath, pulling the shirt away again. He had to get Cloud out of here, and fast. The problem was that the past year hadn't exactly been kind to him and he wasn't even sure he could lift Cloud. He found himself muttering under his breath as he tried to wake Cloud up, swearing, growling, whatever; just something to keep him busy.  
  
No use. Cloud wasn't moving. Gritting his teeth, Zack took Cloud's arm and slid it around his neck, biting back a taste of bitter nostalgia as he did so. It was not a pleasant experience to be in the exact same position he had been directly preceding the moment that very nearly cost him his life--but it was stupid to dwell on that now. He snaked on arm around Cloud's waist, pulling him up against his chest and began to crawl back down the stairs as fast as he dared to go.  
  
By the time they had escaped the burning building, the younger man's lips had taken a decidedly unnatural tint, something of a light bluish purple color. Zack wasted no time, laying Cloud flat on his back when they got about three meters from the fire and starting mouth-to-mouth immediately.  
  
It took him nearly a half dozen frenzied attempts, but Cloud finally sputtered, coughing violently a few times. Gripping the other man's shoulders, Zack had him sit up, allowing him to double over and gasp in the precious clean oxygen. Zack slowly massaged his shoulders, silently thanking the stars and whatever else was out there. "You okay?" he managed.  
  
More coughing. He didn't want to know how much damage had been done to Cloud's lungs in the ordeal, and he didn't know whether or not to be glad that the Mako flowing inside Cloud's veins would likely take care of the problem.  
  
"I...I think so..." Cloud's voice was slightly weak, and he was still wheezing badly. His face was marked with soot, his bared chest darkened by a fine layer of ash, but he didn't seem to be burned at all. Zack guessed he hadn't even seen the fire.  
  
Until then, anyways. His blue eyes were drawn to the burning building, the orange flames licking high into the blackened night sky. A nearly inaudible curse was uttered half under his breath, a hint of awe mixed in with the striking horror there. The sight was truly worthy of the uttered obscenity too, Zack reflected, as he noted that they were still close enough that he could feel the sultry heat pressed like a cloth over his face, a stark contrast to the cold open air on his back.  
  
Someone was offering them blankets and helping them move to a safer distance, even as the roof began to collapse in on itself, scattering molten red ashes flying into the air for a good meter around the building. A flask of whiskey was being passed around to help ward off the winter chill. Everything else seemed to be blurred together indefinitely in the back of his mind.  
  
He found himself standing behind Cloud, blankets hunched around his shoulders and wishing his feet weren't bare. Tifa had gotten badly burned on one of her legs, it seemed, as he looked on quietly, nodding at the right times and glancing back at the now dying flames as able villagers worked together to put the fire out. Others were offering their houses to the injured, or those too far from home to make it back that night.  
  
They ended up staying in different houses; Cloud had been taken with the injured, as he was still coughing badly an hour after their escape. Zack watched him for a long time, feeling the pinprick of sorrow he couldn't quite squelch growing steadily. The boy he'd fallen in love with seven years ago, the young man he'd dragged around the world ensure the safety of, he wasn't there. Cloud seemed like a completely different person.  
  
Understandable, sure. But damning and....just _sad_.  
  
He slowly turned, walking slowly to the house he was staying at. Someone was running back, towards him, he could hear them, but he didn't look up until he heard his name. It was Cloud's voice, the still slightly breathless tenor, calling to him. He stopped but he did not turn.  
  
"Zack." Cloud had reached him now, reached up a tentative hand and he heard the other's slight sigh before he placed it on Zack's shoulder. "Zack, I...thanks. For saving me...again." His voice was quiet, laced with something the other couldn't quite identify.  
  
Cloud's touch hurt. It was like a hundred needles in his skin knowing that he couldn't touch Cloud back, that the younger man didn't want him to. His touch was a million times worse than the burn of the fire in the inn and Zack suddenly wanted to get away, as far as he could from this feeling. Instead, he buried the feeling, just like he always did, and he smiled, ruffling the messy blond hair. "You owe me big time, kid," he said jokingly.  
  
And then, he turned and walked away.  
  
  
_Its not a cry you can hear at night  
Its not somebody who's seen the light  
Its a cold and its a broken hallelujah_  
- Rufus Wainwright, Hallelujah  
  
-------  
  
_End of Chapter Three. I like random song lyrics appearing in my fic. Plot starts happening next chapter. God, this is slow and depressing. I'm sorry. x_x Review?_


	4. Author's Note

This is a simply a note to let you all know that I am in the process of rewriting this story. This means that this story will come down sometime in the near future. The new story has a new name, it is "Scars & Stitches". You can access this through my user page since ff.net doesn't seem to be allowing me to link to anything in my stories. :/ Sorry. Well, I hope you enjoy it.  
  
-r 


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